


Letters to the Fallen

by OnlyAmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Letters, Post-The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyAmy/pseuds/OnlyAmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock,<br/>I don’t know why I’m writing this to you. It’s be a long time…God knows it’s been a very long time. My therapist seemed to be getting annoyed at my lack of progress at “moving past the passing of my colleague” so rather than talk to her about…that time…she said I should write to you...</p>
<p>Post Reichenback Fall. <br/>John has difficulty coming to terms with the death of Sherlock. These are the words he never had the chance to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May 16th

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm Amy!  
> So I've never written for Sherlock before, but am avidly in love with the show. I got this idea based off of what my therapist said to me after the passing of my father 2 years ago. To this day I still write him letters. I kind of figure that it would make for an interesting story at least to see the words that John never got to say.   
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it.

May 16th

Sherlock,

I don’t know why I’m writing this to you. It’s be a long time…God knows it’s been a very long time. My therapist – not Ella, no, Mycroft practically forced me to get a new one – seemed to be getting annoyed at my lack of progress at “moving past the passing of my colleague” so rather than talk to her about…that time…she said I should write to you. Doesn’t that seem a bit – well – stupid to you? I mean you’re…well…dead. It’s not like you’re going to magically reappear and write me back. I have to write one of these a week though, and then give them back to Jane – oh, yeah, that’s the new shrink-I mean **therapists** -name. It’s like homework all over again!

Truth be told though Sherlock, I’m still waiting. I’m still waiting for my miracle. It just doesn’t seem…right that you’re not here. Mocking my grammar or playing the violin right in my ear when I’m trying to write. I miss you. I miss Baker Street. I haven’t been able to go back. Mrs Hudson has some new lodgers though. I had her send me your stuff though, just in case the people moving in didn’t take to kindly to heads being in the fridge or various experiments on cupboard mould under the sink. How we didn’t die from some form of exposure is beyond me Sherlock!   
  I’m living in Brixton at the moment. Funnily it’s not far from that house! Do you remember – stupid question, of course you do! The one from the “Study in Pink”. I like being close to it. It makes me feel closer to you. It still doesn’t even make sense that you’re not here. That you’d jump of a bloody building. I just…I’m just…I can’t even begin to entertain the idea that you weren’t everything I knew you to be all that time we were together. Even Lestrade has – had – trouble accepting it. I guess Donovan and Anderson played a big part in getting him to believe the crap that The Sun and other newspapers were spouting. I warned you though Sherlock – the press ALWAYS turn…and they turned on you in the worst way possible. In a way, I’m sort of glad you didn’t see the fallout. But damn, I wish you were here now. I miss my best friend. You really were the greatest man I ever knew. Even if you were a colossal pain in the arse. I’d take your whining and tantrums over this nothing any day.

Please stop this.

Your best friend,

John.


	2. May 23rd

May 23rd

Sherlock,

So this is my second letter to you. For the record, I’m only doing this assignment because I have nothing to blog about. I haven’t written anything on that thing since the case in Dartmoor. What am I meant to write about these days anyway? Nothing happens to me.

I got in a fight with another chip and pin machine this morning. All I wanted to do was to buy a bloody pack of tea bags but no! Apparently my card was not authorised. Maybe this is another strange ploy of your brothers to get me to talk to him. He’s been trying to get me to meet with him for some time now. I think he’s lonely. I mean, now he isn’t spying on you all the time, what else does he have going on? I guess he could actually do work rather than getting his staff to do it for him. It would be typical of him to disable my card to get my attention. Dramatic as ever. You know, despite how much you hated him; you both had a strange thing for dramatics. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. God, are all your family like that? In a way, I’m kind of glad I never found out. The Sunday lunches must have been entertaining to say the least.

Harry keeps on trying to set me up with some of her friends. I think she is worried about me. I am fine though, Sherlock, I really am. It took some time to get back into a normal way of life, just like it was returning from the war. Everything seemed – well, I guess it still does – just a bit to…dull. It’s quite sweet that my sister has started to care about my wellbeing, but God I wish she’d stop interfering. I’m fine by myself. Or at least, I’m getting there. Anyway, the last thing I need right now is an overbearing girlfriend. Too much drama. Besides, I am working full time at the local surgery now! Nowhere near enough time to even consider dating.

I have nightmares too. Not like the sharp, loud hectic ones that came after my time in Afghanistan. No, these are worse. It’s just the same thing, over and over again. I’m back at St Bart’s and you’re on the roof and I’m chasing and chasing but I never get to you on time. I reach the roof just as you turn…it’s always so slow. So lethargic…I’m powerless to stop it, just like I was then. It’s always the same ending. “Goodbye John” as you disappear over the edge and I’m frozen to the spot. Useless.

Hopefully, like the last nightmares that I had, these will fade. Maybe my slow brain is having trouble accepting that you’re dead and not coming back. Come on, let’s be honest here, I’m writing letters to you – that has got to say something about my subconscious wellbeing.

Anyway, I have to go now. Lestrade is dragging me to the pub for “male bonding over a pint and the footie”. This is going to be fun! Don’t get me wrong, Greg is great…but it’s all superficial. I just want a quiet night in with a cup of tea and a nice book, but I have no tea bags. Stupid self-service tills. To the pub I go!

I guess I’ll write next week too…

John

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, let me know what you think, any ideas, criticisms...whatever :)  
> I promise that as it goes on, letters will get longer, well, maybe, depends on the tone of the letter I guess...lets see where the plot takes me :D  
> Thanks and ttfn!   
> Amy x


End file.
